Sara the Cowboy

As soon as we entered the bar's smoky atmosphere, my nose inadvertently twitched with the nip of pussy in the air. The house band was overwhelmingly loud and for a Saturday night, it was rather deserted. As soon as we plopped ourselves down on the soft stools, we were awakened from our 2/3 drunk by something we had nary seen in over a year of spelunking the Beantown watering holes.

I'm loath to describe her as a bartender because it calls to mind a moderately overweight man in his mid-30's pushing the final legal drug. She hardly resembled the stereotypes that befall a booze slinger and although she celebrated the qualities prized by both the superficial man and the average big-city female bartender.

Sara was different, if ever there was someone to hang onto your drinking habit for, she was it. Surely it was her first week on the job (we have a running bet going to decide if it was indeed her first day overall) as she was as quiet and shy as a bartender gets that was able to enjoy her qualities; in all honestly, she was completely gorgeous, and I'm constantly ribbed on how picky I am.

Long dirty blonde locks-clearly carefully attended to--that fell almost 2/3 of the way down her back and boasting a body that is hard to put into words, she was roughly in the top halves of the 5's in height, with a tight black tube top tank that showed off the glazed tan on her shoulders and belly when we were granted with little peeks. No belly ring, which was a welcome surprise; such a tired premise anymore-original as a lower back tattoo (which she unfortunately had). Her formfitting pants were arguably tighter than her top-also black-and my buddies and I gambled as to whether she was sporting any underwear at all, top or bottom. There were watermelon balloons where her chest should be, so heavy that they hung down in the front, both spry and droopy at the same time if that makes any sense at all.

She was a doll; her grill was tiny in every aspect, little slit mouth, a button-nose, forehead-but her eyes were huge, doe-sized with buttery long lashes that were rich and full enough to sweep a museum floor but unknowing-suggesting sweet naiveté. She was also very subtlety make-upped; just a nervous smile was all she wore but it was her headgear that set us all off -a straw cowboy hat that was simultaneously out of place and the perfect fit for the tiny bartending bitch-and it made our collective mouths and cocks water.

Her giant titties were bouncing and swaying all over the room but it seemed as though she was restricting them, almost as though she was a little self-conscience about their size. This led me to believe that those titty bags were real. Front heavy like a television, I felt bad for her tiny back-it must struggle to support those monsters!

We collectively ordered drink after drink, and I do mean drink after drink, until the mood warranted shot worthiness and we indulged willingly, doing exactly that at the expense of the friend that had passed out on the counter with his wallet on the bar top. One by one we were sent off into sleep or subway, and resolved with only my friend Mark and myself remaining.

We were both shy as a general rule, but after our third set of shots, it was she, not us, who opened up and quiveringly and inquisitively asked us, "So how was it? How was the shot?"

"It was good, there was a lot to it," I slurred, as the whiskey glass she was instructed to use by her mentor for the night was huge; it left little to the imagination and in her novice approach, filled it 2/3 with Southern Comfort unsure and terrified to shortchange what was possibly a repeat and well-paying customer.

The house band had disbanded, the surly and not-sober customers either filed out or were removed, and there were a precious few remaining at the Jake downtown. Mark and I made small talk but mostly eyes at Sara, who was learning how to clean up for the night. Her adviser, visibly agitated and anxious to go home himself, instructed us to do likewise, then left. I finally had built up enough nerve (or drunkenness) to ask her how she was getting home. Mark was in the bathroom making rid of his dinner at the time, and had no idea I was trying to seize the pants of the bartender we had two hours earlier described as not only unattainable but utterly out of any of our collective leagues.

Surprisingly she seemed entertained as I payed her attention, almost not used to the affection (are you kidding me!?) and it worked out beautifully because I was so drunk that I didn't care anymore, even though I assumed she was going to laugh right in my face. At this point the bar was vacant, and although Mark had returned he was so thoroughly out of it that any shenanigans that took place on his watch were sure to be forgotten. He urged to leave, but judging by Sara's smily responses-I refused to abruptly leave. I mean, it would have been much easier for her to ignore me than it was to pay me attention, right? So there was no way I was giving up yet.

I went to the bathroom and came back to find Mark face down on the bar, frustrated in sleep that I refused his requests to leave and Sara hitching stools up on top of the bar. "Need some help with that?" I offered in half a daze as she finished and I realized I was growing impatient as to if anything was to happen at all. But good, and sometimes very good things come to those who wait.

Her tummy was repeatedly visible as she replaced the last few countertops with barstools, but I couldn't stop staring at her butt! It was like a peach on a windowsill, almost taunting to be eaten and sucked dry and there was no way I was leaving this bar until I was 100% certain that nothing was going to happen. It was then, that something did.

With an empty bar and the register methodically filed, she made her way back to my seat from behind the wood and asked me what I was still doing there.

"I don't know, are you coming with me?" I asked as I stumbled, with half a smile and with what was no doubt a drunken sheen over my eyes.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to my apartment."

"I better not, I can get in big trouble for that. I'm new here, but we can chat here for a little, if you'd like."

"Sure, what did you want to ch---" and with that she wasted no more time-in her defense it was already 3:30 in the morning-she yanked her top up over her head to reveal that I had won the bet-no boulderholder. They were beautiful. I was so excited, $50 in my pocket the next day.

Her fun bags were mammoth in every sense of the word; perky thanks to her age but also a little saggy in the front because they were so ridiculously big. She was DD if she was a day, and all I could do was wonder as to whether they were real thanks to her petite frame, dammit.

Unfortunately it muddied my mind as she stripped in front of me, jerking each tit separately as to take her careful time, and I sat there, both mesmerized and loaded trying my best to sober up to enjoy this out-of-the-blue display by the outlandishly hot bartender that belonged at Centerfolds scooping up dollar bills with her pretty ass cheeks.

"I heard you guys betting tonight," she snapped coyly.

"Dammit," I thought, busted. But there was still the chance that the crude nature of our questions turned her on. Hey I was pretty drunk at this point, so anything was possible, I rationalized. I had already gotten the answer to the first question, but the answer to the second was imminent.

"No way she's wearing underwear, no fucking way," I believe were Mark's exact words. She plucked thumbs into the top of her pants-waist side-and slid them down over her smooth oily thighs to reveal a full body tan, the lovely telling view also providing me with the answer to question the third.

"So lets see," she recalled as she uncorked a nearby bottle of Jack, "Am I wearing a bra?" and with that she wiggled her chest and let her hooters flop side to side, "check." She then raised the bottle to her mouth and pressed the glass to her lower lip, but before chugging, "Number 2 I believe was, 'No way she's wearing panties, am I correct?"

Her next moves would answer questions 2 and 3 with only the balance of the nights events telling as to whether she was a card carrying number 4 or not. I nodded in disbelief as she put her bottle down and ran both hands up and down in little motions at the top of her bare thighs--where someone who actually wears underwear--would have them. It looked surprisingly easy too, considering her thighs looked like two fresh hot loaves of homemade bread with butter spread on top, slippery as ski slopes, "check." She tickled her thighs and picked up the bottle with a free hand while the other lingered. She started dragging it toward her center, "And oh yeah, I think it was you that made the last two bold predictions, if I remember correctly."

Stone cold busted. I was certain the gravy train stopped here and that she was just teasing the hell out of me to make me regret my piggish remarks. Her left hand was so deft at dancing around her mound that it clearly seemed to be the hand she uses to pleasure herself. She raised the glass to her mouth, "Hardwood floors, free heat, ready to move in, check" she smiled before taking a baby shot and shaking it around in her mouth. She swallowed and thought for a moment, "Ah yes, the final one, this was a doozy you naughty boy, I remember hearing 'swallow' and 'coat tits'," but that was all I could hear.

"I think you can pretty much connect the dots from there," I told her and after winking at me, she took another long swill of the bottle and sucked the glass into her mouth her head back so far her straw cowboy hat almost fell off. She took it in deep until she stumbled at her footing and gagged. She whipped it out and licked the opening of the bottle and held the whiskey in her mouth before sloshing it around side-to-side, tatties following suite, coating her mouth then drinking it down. She swiped the drops that fell from her mouth and out onto her tits and wiped them on her tongue. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

I was now up $100 and as events transpired, it would have been a hard sell to convince me that I wasn't the luckiest man in the world. Mark wouldn't have known though, he was still face down asleep on the bar. She kept her cowboy hat on but that was it. Surprisingly, she wore no jewelry, no earrings, no bracelets or rings, not even a watch. She was surprisingly bare and as the affair and was indeed a minimalist-in every possible way-as I had just learned.

She grazed herself gently, but definitely took it slow, turning her back to me occasionally to shake her ass and grab her ass cheeks and yank them apart. Her little butt was just that; a tiny little apple with a teeny little cleft to separate her cheeks as though her ass despised splitting at all.

She turned around and finally joined me on my side of the bar so she could demand what I had there and then. Of course, all I could do was embrace her requests so I hauled my zip down and pulled out my meat. She was surprised I followed her orders-again, she was shy, so shy that she was not used to being listened to-but quickly made use of my snake and played and tickled with it like a bitch with a nursery-newborn. She took her sweet time as though she hadn't had a cock in years; admiring it like an expensive desert that she wasn't paying for. After recognizing her throat was dry and licking her lips, she jerked it hard for the first time. She had taken so long to give me a proper tug that I felt as though I was going to slop her up with the first yank! Yes, she was that hot. She gave me some lovely pulls and as the even the first deliberations of firing off crossed my mind, I demanded that she stop.

"Fine," she snapped and walked around to her side of the bar, tits bouncing and swaying, free-swinging as she made herself to her newly familiar turf and poured another shot for herself, sloshing it back like it was as tame as chocolate milk. She then poured an IPA and killed it to numb her taste buds. Drunk-wise, she might have been catching up, and in her frustration, she decided to make her last ditch effort to capture my seed and flipped her balloony flops up on the bar like a coin with her arms and offered them as a target. She had obviously noticed my attentions to her jugs that evening and made me an offer I couldn't refuse, "You can blow on 'em if you like," she whispered, leaning into me and giving me a kiss on the nose then on my mouth. She was really hot to squat and I was far from ready to deny her that need, so I started working my meat in my free hand to get it nice and hard for her.

"Let me do that," she unsurprisingly reacted, leaning over the bar and taking both charge and full fistfuls of meat so she could work me up to her own tastes. "Mmmmm, your pork is big, but I think I'm ready for it...I've been lubing up ever since you walked into the bar tonight." Out of nowhere she had become filthy but it was hard to deny those beautiful honkers as they jiggled to and fro in front of me and I suppose letting her suck it dry was the least I could do.

She rejoined me on my side of the saloon and dropped to her lovely knees so she could continue to go about her business of bringing me off with those two magnificent little hands.

"So tell me, you never replied to my offer," she inquired. Unbeknownst to her, I had been building up a response to her question since she originally asked it, and I was now ready to blow her mind.

"Nope, the only thing I blow on is soup and tonsils" I affectionately replied. Sara simply widened her jaw and opened her mouth sky-wide to the hilt in response.

"Great answer!," she responded, "I gave you a shot tonight, now you give me one, seems fair to me." She was truly intrigued, I could tell, as she didn't say one more word and buried my stiff iron in her throat like it was a monster horse pill.

She tasted it, then pulled my dick from her mouth and smacked the smooth rubbery tip against her tongue. When I was squarely straddling her head, she lowered it in, filling her mouth to the tiptop brim.

She winced as my thick, heavy tubesteak nudged at her tonsils for the first time but she quickly became not only accustomed, but rather enjoyed being poked in the throat. Such a different type of fuck from having a cunt filled.

She jammed me in her throat and scraped along my nuts with her perfectly polished nails as she weighed them with her open hand, twiddling my balls as her her tongue and mouth worked hard on the important stuff. She again pulled me off and licked her lips, sucking off the bead of precum at my eye to sample the flavor. Sara then quickly threw her long wavy locks into a messy ponytail so I could see her face while she bobbed, batting her eyelashes at the weight of my balls before driving me back into her throat for seconds.

After fevered suckings it was hard to tell who was more ready to burst, and as though she had done this very thing 100 times before, she knew exactly when to throw her tits up, just as my balls couldn't feel any fuller and she held them there suspended and jiggled them squarely, waving them like a trophy so they were in the firing line.

"Splash that salty gravy all over 'em," she slithered as she juggled and jacked her big pretty puppies, "Yeah come on baby, get 'em nice and sticky."

She peeked her head down and nestled her chin on her chest between both hooters with a devious smile so she could sneak a taste when the first blast arrived but was completely taken aback when I threw it back in her mouth.

Being the perfect gentleman, I gave her a few caveat slaps on the tongue before I fucked her throat again all while she playfully tickled the underside of my balls. Just as suddenly as I had put it in her mouth, she unhinged her jaw like a cobra as I flicked my tip against her palate and showered the tonsils and everything after with perhaps what were my heaviest slugs to date.

"Slime time!" was the only thing I could muster as I unloaded and she whimpered on my wads, seemingly refreshed at how different it was to be not only tasting but also drinking the sperm of a man that wasn't her boyfriend (as I came to find out.) When I was through coating her taste buds, I courteously whipped it out, and again, (what can I say, I'm a gentleman) gave her a stellar warning.

"The rest is for your tits," I grunted as I pulled it out just in time to rinse her balloons. She cooed disapprovingly with meat not in her mouth but it gave her a chance to catch up savoring her dessert. I could visibly see her eyes pop at the sudden emptiness between her lips. She patted her jugs and smiled all wide-mouthed and open, in a pie eyed trance as she carefully observed me pitching the rest of it all over her.

The resulting blasts resulted in freshly slimed cans, which she played with as she twisted her knobs, tipped her head back and spilled her straw cowboy hat to let her long dirty blonde locks fall free as I finished up and dripped it on the tits while she balanced a mouthful. When I was done, I grabbed her by the chops and shook her jowls side-to-side forcefully as I wobbled her mouthful of spoo.

A few steamy drops slipped out of her mouth and slid down onto her chin but I just kept a vise grip on her jaw and spit filth right in her face, "How do my balls taste? You like that little slut? Now drink it all down like a good girl. Yeah that's it...swallow it all down... that's a good little cocksucker."

She simply nodded and finished her meal as she squeezed her floppers together with both hands like a true porn slut and played in the first flashes of my plaster. I must admit, she drank my babies with shameless glee as she worked the balls, her only regret being she couldn't have those in her mouth too, as I later found out.

Her lighthearted giggles at the cost of her tatties all frosted and slathered in sperm as she slapped them was nothing but heavenly; her little snickers emptied my balls to raisins as I watched the spunk bridge and break between her jugs, all while she alternately pushed them together and let them fall free. She juggled her floppers and monitored the disbursement over them carefully making sure each banger was properly and evenly drenched.

You could do Playboy," I whispered, as I looked down on her nakedness, splotched with white yellowy splashes, her bald pussy holding my gaze the longest. It did take a while before her first inexperienced response was heard, as she needed a moment to collect both her thoughts and the rest of my squirts.

"You got my tonsils all sticky!" She squirmed a little and wiggled her tongue, "I can feel it...not to mention my tits," she sniggered as she continued swallowing while she looked down and carefully balanced amounts of sperm on either nipple.

"The first that I really got to properly sample and drink, yeah," she answered, choosing her words carefully, looking at and licking her tacky-as-glue fingers clean.

"You got me all greased up," she whined, as she patted her mound while she scooped herself up from the knees, giving me big playful slaps on the hairless balls. I didn't help her up. "You did definitely satisfy my thirst for sludge tonight... but now it's my turn."

I raised an eyebrow at her descriptions of such things, seeing as how she made this out to be a rare event, but something told me that this was not the first prick to be buried or burst in her mouth; I studied her fat slimy lips again as she hoisted herself up onto the bar with uncrossed legs. I smacked her big tits around as we switched positions, and she didn't seem to mind, although, if a girl you've known for hours lets you hose down her throat, she doesn't say no to much else.